


The Last Five Years

by TheThingsWeDoToday



Category: Newsies, Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: AU, Its fkn sad, TL5Y au, This is gonna be a rough one, hold on tight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11957061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThingsWeDoToday/pseuds/TheThingsWeDoToday
Summary: Davey and Jack are re-living their five year realtionship.Davey's timeline begins at the end, and moves backward to the time he and Jack met.Jack's timeline starts at the beginning, and travels through five years toward the rocky ending.Based on the musical/movie The Last Five Years.





	1. Still Hurting

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry in advance 
> 
> (Also I haven't updated any of my other fics, so here. Have some MORE heartbreak.)

The apartment was empty when Dave made it home.  
  
The lights were shut off, David's phone was void of messages from his husband, and from the looks of it, Jack still hadn't brought in the mail like Davey had asked him to three days ago.  
  
And, the apartment was empty.  
  
The usual.  
  
David had gotten used to returning home to an empty apartment. There was once a time when he could be sure that Jack would be there, waiting for him to get home. Waiting with a smile, and a story to tell, and open, vocal affection to give. Waiting to ask him about work, and rub his feet, and kiss him, and help him make dinner.  
  
Davey couldn't really count on that, anymore, though. Jack was more often than not, busy with work. His work schedule kept him away. Kept him away from David; kept him away from his home. Kept him occupied. These days, David was lucky if Jack even made it back from work before eleven.  
  
Davey shrugged off his jacket, hanging it up on the rack- where Jack's coat was not. He must have taken it to work that morning.  
  
He ran his hands over his face, taking in a deep breath and releasing it sharply into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. Crawl into Jack's arms-  
  
No, his heart-  
  
No, his soul-  
  
And rest there for a couple thousand centuries.  
  
But as soon as he took one step further into the deserted (as usual) apartment, checked his phone's barren (as usual) "missed call" list, and stepped into the (dark, and cold, as usual) living room, he noticed something that was rather _un_ usual.  
  
He had been noticing unusual things for a while, now. In fact, he'd been noticing them here and there for about a year.  
  
Maybe longer.  
  
He remembered very vividly the first time he really, truly noticed one of these "unusual" things.  
  
He was getting into bed after a long day. He eagerly welcomed the soft sheets and the fluffy pillows, and his husband lying in bed beside him.  
  
But as he lay there, staring blissfully at Jack's smiling face, he couldn't help the sick feeling that crept up inside his stomach. He wasn't able to locate the problem, exactly. He just knew that he didn't feel right. Or, rather, something about the room around him didn't feel right.  
  
He was up well into the night, worrying about the uneasy feeling in his gut. He thought that if he could only figure out what was making him feel so unnerved, he might finally be able to fall asleep. It was hours later, long after Jack had crashed into a deep sleep, that Davey finally realized what the problem was.  
  
Their bedsheets smelled of perfume.  
  
A woman's perfume.  
  
Somebody else's nauseating, unfamiliar perfume.  
  
Davey knew, that although he'd found the source of his queasy feeling, he wouldn't sleep a damn wink that night.  
  
He'd found other unusual things, too.  
  
Once, he'd come across what he could swear was a smudge of mascara on their bathroom counter.  
  
Another time, he'd found a cuff link under the bed that had never belonged to him, or to Jack.  
  
Just two weeks ago, he'd come home to find that Jack had washed the sheets and re-made the bed.  
  
Jack _never_ did any sort of laundry. And he _never_ made the bed.  
  
But David had learned to push these unusual things aside. Learned not to think about them. He learned to tell himself that he was overthinking, and that the small occurences didn't mean anything. He pushed the intruding thoughts out of his mind, refusing to allow himself to believe that Jack was anything other than faithful.  
  
He was skilled in the art of completely disregarding any sign of his husband's not-so-secret love affair.  
  
But not right now. Right now, there was no perfume. There was no cuff link. There was no mascara.  
  
No.  
  
Right now, the only unusual thing was a letter.  
  
A letter that definitely hadn't been there that morning.  
  
A nice, neat, handwritten letter, sitting open-faced on Jack's work desk, like it had absolutely nothing to hide.  
  
David stood there, a lump forming in his throat. Somehow, he knew.  
  
It was funny, when he really though about it.  
  
See, he'd known for months that this was how it would end. In fact, he'd known it for the last year. Hell, maybe he'd known it straight from the goddamned beginning.  
  
He'd predicted it.  
  
It was funny.  
  
What wasn't funny, however, was the fact that it had to end in the first place.  
  
But just because Davey was good at acting like everything was fine, good at ignoring all the clues that meant Jack was cheating on him, good at tricking himself into thinking that Jack still loved him...  
  
That didn't change the facts.  
  
That didn't speed the time.  
  
The foundation of their marriage had been cracked at some point down the line, and it had stayed cracked, no matter how good Davey got at pretending.  
  
He had to take a moment. Take a breath.  
  
Convince himself to take that terminating step forward.  
  
Toward the desk. Toward the letter. Toward the words written there, that he feared and feared and feared.  
  
He didn't cry when he saw Jack's wedding band, sitting lifelessly on the desk.  
  
He didn't cry when he noticed the smooth, polished surface of the inside of the ring.  
  
He didn't cry when he realized it was only so polished, from being slipped on and off Jack's finger so often.  
  
He didn't cry when he saw Jack's key to the apartment, tossed carelessly beside the letter.  
  
He didn't cry when he saw how his fingers shook involuntarily, when they reached to pick up the letter.  
  
He only cried when he realized how little effort Jack had put into his final, definite, goodbye.  
  
Jack was a talented writer. Any lonely middle-aged woman with twenty-five bucks to spare and access to the local book store could tell you that.  
  
But he'd left Davey with no more than half a page of writing.  
  
Half a page. Half a page to mark the end of their relationship. Half a page to bid farewell. Half a page, without even a word of "I love you."  
  
The last five years, wrapped up in a nice little bow, and burnt to the goddamned fucking ground through _half a page_  of writing.  
  
There're certain kinds of crying.  
  
There's the kind where only a few tears fall. They slip silently down your face, and you wipe them away, and nobody notices, and that's that.  
  
There's the kind that's a bit more intense, where you hold back small sniffs and outbursts, not wanting to call attention to yourself.  
  
There's the kind where it hurts too much, and too hard, and you can't help but to vocalize your grief.  
  
And then there's the last kind. It's silent, like the first. But it's silent for a different reason. It's silent, because your very soul has been ripped out of your body. Your throat opens, but no sound comes out, because you're hurting so badly that you can't even sob. Your face is frozen in a permanent expression of pure, relentless sorrow. You're crying similar to the way a newborn child does, minus the volume. You don't know if you will ever stop, or if your silently screaming mouth will ever close, or whether or not you are going to drown in your own tears, never to see the light of day - or the light in your eyes - again.  
  
When David read Jack's letter, it was the first kind of crying that took hold of him. (The last kind didn't hit him until later that night, when he realized he was truly alone for the first time in five years.)  
  
He sunk to the floor, the flimsy piece of paper held too tightly in his fist. His eyes were blank, seeing nothing but how blind he had been.  
  
He had known, of course. He had seen the signs.  
  
Jack had been with other people. Slept with other people. Maybe even loved other people.  
  
But even though he'd seen, he'd still been blind. David had let a tiny part of himself believe that it couldn't be true.  
  
It really was quite funny.  
  
In the letter, Jack explained that he'd called Katherine to help him gather his things. He'd explained that he'd tried to help David, but was not successful.  
  
He did not, however, admit his affair.  
  
He did not confided the obvious secrets.  
  
Davey didn't know how long he sat on the floor, staring into space. Staring into the past memories of his relationship. Staring into the life he'd had with the only man he'd ever loved.  
  
Loved.  
  
Past-tense.  
  
His head was pounding when he finally stood up. He glanced down at his wrist.  
  
_Christmas lights. Jack's smile. A bad day at work and a boy who once loved him. A small, silver box. A gold wristwatch tucked carefully inside._  
  
David immediately tried to remove the watch, but found himself struggling with the clasp. Suddenly it felt as if he were trapped, like he couldn't breathe, couldn't live, couldn't let go, until the cursed object was off his wrist.  
  
He practically threw it onto the mantle when he finally succeeded.  
  
He laid his wedding ring solemnly next to the watch.  
  
Jack was over.  
  
Jack was gone.  
  
Jack decided that the problems were all Davey's. Jack decided it was his right to decide. Jack had secrets he didn't say. Jack had other people to be with. Jack had a life to live.  
  
Jack was probably feeling just fine.  
  
And Davey was still hurting.  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 


	2. Like a God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets just a teensy bit nsfw. I didn't call the chapter Shiksa Goddess, because I didn't write Jack as Jewish. This is only because I wouldn't want to misrepresent anything <3

"Jack, st- just _wait-_ "  
  
"I can't wait," Jack complained. He was practically breathless, his face inches away from Dave's.  
  
"Not anymore."  
  
He grinned when he saw David's deadpan. He knew he was being an ass. He knew Davey had to turn and unlock the door, if they ever actually wanted to get into his room at some point. But he just couldn't keep his hands - or his mouth - off Davey for long enough to let him put the key into the lock.  
  
And then his lips were on Dave's for the umpteenth time that evening.  
  
Davey laughed into the kiss, and Jack knew that this was good. He knew that this was right.  
  
But Davey pushed him away once again, his face flushed.  
  
"I need to open the damn door."  
  
Jack shrugged.  
  
"Not important. We can do it on the front step."  
  
Davey scoffed, his face turning toward the darkened New York street.  
  
Jack's heart fluttered. He could look at that face all damn day.  
  
"No, Jack, we cannot _do it on the_..."  
  
Jack lifted an eyebrow, a suggestive smirk plastering his face.  
  
Davey rolled his eyes, but Jack could see him trying to suppress a smile.  
  
"...Nevermind," Davey resigned. He laughed to himself and turned toward the door, fumbling the key into the lock.  
  
Jack smiled coyly, rather enjoying the view of Davey as his back was turned.  
  
As the door to his apartment swung open, Davey turned back around to face Jack. His mouth opened to say something either incredibly sarcastic, or irresistibly attractive. He was cut off, however.  
  
Jack just couldn't help himself.  
  
He grabbed Davey by the waist and pushed him hurriedly through the doorway. They stumbled together into the apartment, their mouths connecting needily. Jack kicked the door shut, not even bothering to look behind him as he did it. They almost fell as Jack pushed Davey against the nearest wall, their feet tripping over each other as they scrambled to find their balance. Jack stripped off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground. His hands roamed up Davey's side, down his back, and anywhere else they could reach.  
  
In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Jack hooked his arms around Davey's torso and hoisted him up.  
  
And that's when the giggling started.  
  
Davey wrapped his legs around Jack, laughing into the crook of his neck as he was carried toward the bed.  
  
Jack tilted his head back as David's laughter turned into a particularly mind-numbing kiss- just above the collarbone.  
  
It was maybe a bit _too_ mind-numbing, as Jack's knees went wobbly and they both tumbled to the floor.  
  
David's laughter was a life-changing sound.  
  
Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows, taking a second to breathe. He smiled down at the boy laying beneath him.  
  
He could not believe how damn lucky he was.  
  
David reached up, cradling Jack's face with his palms and staring at him contently. It was a moment of sobriety amongst all the giddiness.  
  
When Davey pulled him down for a kiss, Jack felt a storm brewing in his stomach. The kind of storm that people could fall asleep to, listening through their open windows to the rain splattering on the roof. The kind of storm that left the earth clean and damp, and whose puddles were splashed in by children. The kind of storm that left mist and raindrops and petrichor in its wake.  
  
This was the man Jack wanted to be with.  
  
He sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and beaming at Davey when he followed. Dave took Jack's hand, dragging him to his feet and pulling him onto the unkempt bed.  
  
Jack was reminded of his first kiss as he and Davey lay on the bed together. They were sloppy and careless and needy, much like thirteen-year-old Jack had been when he'd first locked lips with Sydney King, back in the eight grade.  
  
Jack didn't care.  
  
In fact, it was a good thing.  
  
It meant that Davey made him feel new, and young, and carefree.  
  
Happy.  
  
David kicked off his shoes, letting them fall to the floor. His hands were cold, but his chest was warm against Jack's. He smelled like coffee and fabric glue and something else that was so completely _David_. He looked like a piece of art, bathed in shadows and cool tones and nighttime.  
  
He felt like someone Jack wouldn't mind coming home to every evening.  
  
Davey's fingers grasped at Jack's belt buckle, slipping the length of leather through his belt loops and tossing it aside.  
  
It was when he started to unbutton the front of Jack's jeans that he was stopped.  
  
"Dave, wait."  
  
Jack stepped off the bed, running his hands through his hair.  
  
"... What's happening?"  
  
Jack sighed, holding his hands out like he didn't know, either.  
  
"I just... I need to soak it all in."  
  
Davey smiled with uncertainty.  
  
Jack laughed, and it came out almost manic-sounding.  
  
"Dave. I'm breaking my mother's heart."  
  
David looked mildly confused. He didn't say anything, waiting patiently for Jack to continue.  
  
"...The longer I stand here, looking at you, the more I hear it break - from a thousand miles away."  
  
"... Uh-huh," Davey said. His voice held a tone of skepticism.  
  
Jack groaned.  
  
"It's just, nobody really knows, yet. About the whole..."  
  
He pointed at David, who in turn, pointed at himself with a questioning look on his face.  
  
Jack just nodded.  
  
"Exactly!"  
  
Davey rolled his eyes.  
  
"You aren't making much sense. Do you want me to put my shirt back on?"  
  
"No!" Jack laughed. "No, of course not. You're... Enticing. You're like some sort of God. The minute I first met you, David Jacobs, I couldn't catch my breath. I've been standing for days, _days_ , with the phone in my hand, trying to work up the balls to just fucking call you."  
  
"Okay..." David said. "I don't see the problem here."  
  
"There isn't one," Jack explained. "That's the thing." He paused, thinking it over. "Maybe... There should be. I've been waiting for a woman, my whole life. You know? I've been waiting for Danica and Erica and Heather and Stacey, not for Jason or Andrew or Scott, or... David. But, here you are. And you know what?"  
  
David bit his lip, his head tilting to the side.  
  
Jack crept back toward him, a smile spreading slowly across his face.  
  
"I don't give a shit."  
  
He wrapped his arms around Davey, resting his chin on top of his head.  
  
"You could have a shaved head, or a pierced tongue, or a criminal record." He pulled away just enough to look Davey in the eyes.  
  
"You could even... Be a guy." He laughed breathily, smoothing back a piece of Davey's hair. "And I wouldn't care. Even though- my grandfather may be rolling in his grave."  
  
Davey smiled.  
  
"Well, I'm glad. Are you done your monologue?"  
  
Jack scoffed in mock offense, but Davey just pulled him for another kiss.  
  
This time, Jack didn't stop him when David reached to undo his jeans.  
  
•••••  
  
David was impossibly more beautiful when falling asleep.  
  
They had resorted to just a sheet, all other blankets pushed hastily off their overheated bodies.  
  
The thought came to Jack suddenly, but clearly.  
  
"You're the story I should write," he whispered.  
  
He could already picture it. The dedication of his very first published novel:  
  
_For Dave._  
  
Davey smiled, though his eyes remained closed.  
  
Jack put his lips to the top of David's head, mumbling the words into his sweat-soaked hair.  
  
"I think that I could be in love with someone like you."


	3. See I'm Smiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, b*tch. Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.
> 
> I didn't fucking proof-read this, so I hope that there are no spelling errors or anything that will add to its general shittiness.
> 
> I'm tired as shit.
> 
> (Ellipses + italics were my best friends for this chapter.)

"I guess I just... can't believe you really came."  
  
David felt himself blush as he said it, as if it were an embarrassing thing to say. As if it were ridiculous to suggest that Jack would ever even consider _not_ showing up.  
  
Jack made a sound that was meant to be a chuckle, but it came out like a scoff.  
  
"Of course I came, sweetheart."  
  
His voice was full of reassurance, but it had an edge to it. Like a mother comforting her son after some sort of stupid childish nightmare.  
  
Davey nodded, leaning his head on Jack's shoulder and looking out at the water. Bringing Jack to the river was the obvious choice, as it had become Davey's favourite place to escape to when the castmates and rehearsals all became too much. He just sat on the pier, thinking about everything and nothing. It calmed him down.  
  
"I'm happy that you're here," Dave said, and it was true. With his summer job in Ohio, he hadn't seen his husband in weeks. He was not a fan of the whole "long-distance relationship" thing.  
  
Jack grabbed his hand.  
  
"Yeah?" He asked, his thumb sliding over Davey's knuckles.  
  
"Yeah," Dave replied. "See? I'm smiling. I've been smiling since you got here. That means I'm happy."  
  
Jack didn't respond. Dave found himself searching for something to say. It was a strange feeling - engaging in small talk with Jack was not what Dave had had in mind for this weekend.  
  
"... I stole this sweater from the wardrobe department," he blurted. "It makes me look like... Daisy Mae."  
  
He didn't know where the words came from, but he needed to say _something_. He knew Jack didn't give a shit about his sweater or where he'd gotten it, but it was better than silence.  
  
Jack laughed at that, burrowing his face in Davey's neck. David felt his heart swell, and though he knew that Jack couldn't really have found his random remark _that_ amusing - that the laughter was probably just to make him feel better about the silence - he found  himself chuckling, too.  
  
"See?" He said. "We're laughing. We haven't laughed together in a long time. I think... I think we're gonna be okay."  
  
Jack pressed his lips together, nodding. He hated to acknowledge the problems that had come up in their marriage, and Davey knew it. But David Jacobs-Kelly was a firm believer in the idea that any problem could be solved through nice, civil conversation. Jack's silence only made him want to press the matter more.  
  
Dave shifted away when Jack leaned in for a kiss. Jack settled for an arm around Davey's waist instead.  
  
"I mean, we'll have to try a little harder," Dave continued. "Bend things around a bit. But we'll get through the rough patches, and... we'll make it work. We'll make _us_ work. At the end of August, I can come back to New York, and... we'll be alright. Everything will be fine, just like it was five years ago."  
  
Davey could tell that Jack was growing increasingly uncomfortable as he talked. But he didn't think problems could be solved by ignoring them. They had to be resolved, whether Jack liked it or not.  
  
"I mean, hell. You made it to Ohio, right? You didn't think you'd ever find the time, but... you're here, aren't you? That counts as something." He let out a puff of warm breath, his fingers toying with the watch adorning his wrist. "I think we both can see what could be better. I'll admit that. And I... I'll own up to the things that I've done, okay? The things that have gone wrong on my part."  
  
Jack's jaw was set. He was probably resisting the urge to roll his eyes. David's rant was clearly annoying him. He kept going.  
  
"I hope you understand it the way I do - that with all we've gone through, Jack... we're gonna end up _twice_ as strong. I know things have been tough. We haven't seen each other as much as we'd like, and... we have a few unsolved arguments up our sleeves. But-"  
  
"Do we have to talk about this right now?" Jack asked, and his voice was hard.  
  
Davey understood that it wasn't really a question.

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke. Davey cleared his throat, looking out over the water. Sure, he'd love it if Jack would talk things out with him right here, right now. But he respected the fact that Jack needed the right time and place to go over those types of things. It was just one of his quirks. It was funny; Jack had a way with words. He wasn't a best-selling author for nothing. But when it came to complicated topics and uncomfortable conversations, his words always seemed to fall short.  
  
Jack must have seen something in Davey's face. Disappointment, or hurt, or something like that. He leaned over and kissed Davey's temple, smiling at him when he pulled away.  
  
"I love you," He said.  
  
Dave smiled. It was forced at first, but it grew into something real. If Jack ever hurt Davey's feelings - intentionally or accidentally - he always made up for it with kisses and simple but sincere declarations of affection.  
  
Jack eventually stood up. Davey waited for him to extend his hand, but realized after a few seconds that he wasn't going to. He got up on his own, and they started walking toward the end of the pier. Jack's hands were in his pockets, but his eyes were fixed on Davey. It was a nice feeling. Dave hadn't had his husband's attention for a long time.  
  
"...I think you're really gonna like my show," he said quietly. "I'm...  _pretty_ sure it doesn't suck."  
  
And there was Jack, laughing again. As if everything was fine. As if he hadn't shut down Davey's attempts at discussion just moments ago.  
  
Davey didn't mind - if Jack was happy and laughing, that's all that mattered. They'd talk about the heavy stuff later.  
  
For now, he would enjoy a beautiful day next to a beautiful river, with his beautiful husband by his side.  
  
"I'm excited for this weekend," Davey said. "I've got a couple things I want to show you around town. On Sunday, I'll take you to the-"  
  
"Actually, baby, I can't stay the weekend." Jack admitted.  
  
He looked genuinely sorry.  
  
A rush of emotions pounded through Davey's head, one by one.  
  
"There's this Random House thing tomorrow, and I have to be there. I'm sorry," Jack continued. He reached out to put a hand on Davey's shoulder.  
  
Davey wanted to sink through the rotting wood beneath his feet and float away on the water.  
  
"I didn't know you had to go so soon," he said quietly.  
  
He felt stupid.  
  
Stupid for assuming that Jack had the weekend off. Stupid for believing that Jack would just shave the extra time off his busy schedule, for one dumb weekend. Stupid for thinking that he was more important than Jack's job.  
  
"Davey, look at me."  
   
Jack's calloused fingertips grabbed at David's chin, lifting his head up. Davey didn't even know he'd let it fall.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jack repeated.  
  
Looking into his eyes, Davey felt the sudden urge to impress Jack. To show him that he could be strong, and happy, and positive.  
  
"Look, whatever." He said, plastering a smile onto his face. "If you  _have_ to, then you just have to. Right? So whatever. It's okay."  
  
He stepped forward, sliding his arms around Jack's waist.  
  
"We'll have tonight," he smiled.  
  
Jack's silence was stiff. Davey felt himself clench up, automatically preparing himself for the bad news he'd grown so accustomed to.  
  
"The thing is, I couldn't really find a plane ticket for tomorrow morning..." Jack explained. He sounded sorry for his own sake. "I tried, Davey, but the only tickets available were for tonight."  
  
He bit his lip, letting it sink in. Davey stepped away from him, his eyes cast down to the ground.  
  
"You know what makes me crazy, Jack?" His voice was small.  
  
No answer.  
  
"I'm sorry, can I say this? You know what makes me _nuts_?"  
  
There were tears in Davey's eyes.  
  
Still, Jack said nothing.

And suddenly, David was filled with an anger so intense it scared him. His head snapped up, and he looked Jack directly in the eye. He hated the expression on Jack's face: apathy with a side of self-pity.  
  
"It's the fact that we could be together. _here_ together. If we really wanted, no, if  _you_ really wanted, you could make the fucking effort to come see me every once in a damn while. You could find the time, clear your damn schedule... we could be sharing our night with each other. We could be spending our time together. I can't help but think that maybe... maybe you just don't fucking want to. Is that it? Do you really hate facing me so much that you'd really rather just stay apart?"  
  
He was shaking now, the words spilling out of his mouth like Jack had taken a tube of paint and squeezed, hard. Like there was no paint left, and Jack had asked too much.  
  
"And you're just going to choose someone else to be with."  
  
"Dave, that's not what I'm-"  
  
"No, you are!" David laughed.  
  
"Listen to me, Dave. That's _not what I'm do-_ "  
  
"Yes, Jack, that's _exactly_ what you're doing! It's real fuckin' simple. You could be here with me, or you could be there with them. As usual, guess which you pick."  
  
"Baby, I have to go."  
  
"No, Jack. No. You do not _have_ to go to _another_ party, with the same twenty jerks you already know. It won't kill you to put me first, just this once."  
  
Jack's mouth was gaping, like a fish that Davey wanted to pull from the water and watch suffocate on air.  
  
"You know what you could do, Jack?" Davey seethed. He'd never heard himself sound so sinister before. "You could stay with your goddamned husband, on his  _fucking_ birthday."  
  
There was a thick, tangible quiet as Davey's words sunk in.  
  
"That's right, Jack. You forgot, didn't you?"  
  
Davey's voice lost its sharpness for a fleeting moment, and he swiped furiously at his eyes.  
  
"You forgot that that's why I asked you to make the trip in the first place."  
  
Jack was wringing his hands.  
  
"While we're talking about it, you know what else you could do? You could, god forbid, see my show. My show, that I've been working my ass off for, for the last two months."  
  
Jack started another pathetic attempt at explaining himself, but Dave wouldn't have it.  
  
"I know, Jack. I know in your soul, it must drive you fucking _crazy_ , that you won't get to play with your little girlfriends."  
  
"Girlfriends?"  
  
"I'm not an idiot, Jack."  
  
Jack stepped toward David, scowling. He grabbed hold of Davey's wrists.  
  
"You're insane."  
  
"No, I'm not- _no I'm not_ -" Davey wrenched his hands away, stumbling back. "-And the point is, Jack, that you cannot spend a single day that's not about _you_. And _you._ And _nothing_ but you. Marvelous,  _novelist_ you." His voice took a mocking tone. "Isn't he wonderful? Just twenty-eight! The _saviour_ of writing!" Davey felt manic. His eyes were wide and his arms were flailing, grasping for any bit of sanity he had left in him.  
  
Jack stood there, rooted to his spot. He looked scared.  
  
"You, and you, and you. That's all I ever hear about. I'm sick of it, Jack. Miles and piles of you, pushing through windows and bursting through walls, en route to the fucking _sky_ -"  
  
Davey took in a sharp breath, the tears finally spilling over down his cheeks. He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle any sobs, turning away from the man in front of him.  
  
Was this necessary?  
  
Was Davey overreacting?  
  
Did Jack even care about any of this?  
  
He didn't know.  
  
It was by far the most excruciating, painful silence David had ever endured.  
  
"I swear to God, Jack. I'll never understand-"  
  
He turned back to face his husband, who had nothing to say, nothing to show, nothing to give.  
  
"-How you can stand there, tall and proud. And you can look at me, and see I'm crying," he paused, waiting for Jack to say something. Do something.  
  
"...And not do _anything_ at all."


End file.
